


A Brush With Death

by Moonrose91



Series: Three Hundred Years of Being Forgotten (Mostly) [8]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: A really really really really small amount, Angst ice cream sundae with angst syrup and angst sprinkles with a tad of fluffy whipped cream on it, Death, Gen, Pain, Rage, Seriously just sort-of, Something is seriously wrong with my brain, Spoilers for books sort-of, This is a very dark part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:26:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonrose91/pseuds/Moonrose91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everything is in Jack's control.</p><p>He sometimes just wishes it could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brush With Death

**Author's Note:**

> This is very, very, dark. As funny as I make it sound in my tags, this is not a happy installment.
> 
> And the next part is going to be dealing with the healing of what happened in this.
> 
> So, the dark arc of this series has begun.

Jack woke up slightly, noticing that there was a three inch layer over him in the snow and he sat up, the snow falling off of him. He looked around and began to shift and move, rising out of the snow, staff in hand.

The North Wind ruffled his hair in greeting and Jack leaned against his staff listlessly.

The North Wind cooed at him worriedly.

"You think Sandman will come this year?" he asked softly and the North Wind hesitated.

Jack’s fourth birthday had been the first birthday of Jack’s Sandman had ever missed. While he had been there the next morning, it had not changed the fact that he had not been there on Jack’s birthday, but Jack had been so happy the next morning, when he saw Sandman waiting, surprised by him rising up out of the snow, that he nearly crushed the smaller spirit in his hug.

But now Jack was doubting that Sandman would be there.

It hadn’t helped that, for some reason, this year, Jack could not get his spirits up, not even when he ran all the way to France (he learned this by actually paying attention to what the adults were saying) to go listen to the bells.

And because of it, the winter had been harsh and the children were shivering and scared and Jack…Jack tried.

He tried to elevate it, tried to have fun, tried to push away all his dark thoughts and his sad feelings. Swallow it all down with the fun, push it all away, and leave it all behind.

But this year, he just couldn’t seem to and the odd creature who he played with always got more agitated with Jack the closer it got to Jack’s birthday, so he knew going up there would be no good.

Jack had no idea why, and Sandman had always put off explaining, promising that he would, but usually when Jack was with Sandman, he just wanted to be near someone who would just ruffle his hair and smile at him and hug him, even if Jack would tense, because he did not get it often enough, or just spend time with him.

Explanations could wait.

They always could, when it came to him and he groaned a bit covering his face.

The Wind tugged at him, and he looked up and into the rising dawn.

With a sigh he shook himself off, sending snow flying everywhere and grinned, but it was forced.

The North Wind tugged at his cloak, which was starting to get worn, and Jack nodded in agreement.

Fun.

He needed to have fun, and lots of it.

Jack grit his teeth and jumped up, leaping into the air, and onto the North Wind’s back, flying away. Loops and laughter and Jack raced through the wind. They raced over the mountains, and Jack decided to run a bit along the edge, running and running.

He laughed with the win and spun around.

He laughed as the wind carried him away and, for a moment, everything was fine.

But when he decided to try and play with the yetis, he didn’t even get close to the building.

It was the first time he hadn’t even slipped in.

Jack Frost had no idea how common occurrence that would become in the future.

For now, dumped in the snow at their border and unable to pull forth a laugh, because this time, this time it hurt, it hurt too deep and too sharply, for him to just laugh it off. He stood shakily and watched the creatures, yetis he overheard one day, though he couldn’t recall the voice, or face, that said it. But he was sure they were called yetis.

He stood, watching them abandon him and he closed his eyes.

“Wind, take me home?” he asked softly.

The wind was reluctant, but obeyed.

And Jack lifted off, flying away.

Stabbed his staff into the lake and balanced on the crook. The North Wind pushed him gently and Jack laughed softly, if brokenly.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be there in a minute. Just…just need to get my bearings, okay?” he stated and the North Wind curled around him, an eternal presence in an otherwise lonely life.

Jack closed his eyes and clung to it tightly, ignoring the way he swayed lightly on his staff. He then grinned and jumped off, landing. He collected his staff and made sure to freeze the lake flawlessly so there was never a sign that it had been there at all.

Jack swung his staff over his shoulders, arms over the staff, and he began to walk with a smile, pretending it didn’t hurt when no animals reacted to him. They looked past him or, worse, walked through him like the children and everyone else did.

However, the day was clear and, even with the snow piled high, the kids were coming out, peeking out and staring. It was hard, and he stared down at the nearest child. “I am sorry you know,” he stated.

The kid did not respond, but the snowball fight was considered one of the greatest Jack had ever started with the children near his home.

* * *

He heard a whistle and Jack turned around.

It was February and Jack was startled to see a groundhog on top of the snow. “Will you stop starin’ like a slack-jawed moron and git over here?” he demanded, and Jack immediately went over to him, kneeling before the creature who was half coated with snow and glaring at Jack like he wanted to gnaw the boy’s face off.

He’d worry about the rather large, talking, groundhog that was glaring at him later.

Maybe he should get Sandman to explain things soon.

They had been celebrating his birthday when lights had appeared in the sky, a beautiful hue and Sandman had shot up in shock. Jack knew those lights meant _something_ , but he would never be able to tell anyone what it meant.

By now, he figured that it meant something bad had happened.

“Nice Spirit, better than Autumn anyway. Admittedly, I only herd Spring and Winter, but only when you two need it. You got a good head on your shoulders and Spring was early, you weren’t late, so don’t you worry about that thing. I ain’t mad at ya. I’m mad at a certain Pooka. Blasted, buck-toothed, hare,” the Groundhog growled out and began to mutter unsavory things in a language Jack didn’t understand.

“You need me for something?” Jack questioned and the groundhog startled.

“Right. Something grabbed Spring. She’s not going to be able to get here in time. Mother Nature can start the turn, but not enough, so Summer has to take over. There’s just one small problem with that,” he explained and huffed, shifting his weight slightly.

Jack waited and the groundhog sighed.

“Mother Nature’s sorry about this Jack. She knows it goes against everything you are, but…you need to make it storm. You need to make a snowstorm that hasn’t been seen before and will probably never happen again. It needs to be cold, it needs to be thick, and it needs to be horrible. She’s real sorry about this. But…Summer will crack the world if you don’t,” the Groundhog explained, but Jack already felt as if a pit had formed in his stomach.

He had never met Mother Nature, she wasn’t even asking him herself.

She had sent _someone else_ to tell him he had to make the children he played with _fear_ him.

This was going to kill people.

He had never knowingly, or intentionally, caused deaths before.

Why…why would Mother Nature, who he never met, who never reached out to him, ask him to become a murderer?

“Jack?” the groundhog called.

“Summer will crack the earth?” he questioned, already knowing his choice.

“Yeah. She’s got too much heat and autumn can’t do it. She’s not for growing things anymore then you are. Well, you do got the holly and such. But you can’t grow crops and only certain crops are ripe for autumn, sometimes. It’s complicated, but if the world is too warm…Summer’s gonna kill a lot more people than these snowstorms,” the Groundhog explained.

The North Wind hummed and Jack sagged.

“Okay,” he whispered and stood up.

He…he could turn this into a game.

It would be one without any fun however.

“You better go. I have to get started if I want to get enough build up,” Jack stated and jumped into the air, the Wind carrying him away.

The first storm hit four days later, focused mainly near his home.

It was the place that he could pull the most strength from, even as he spread the cold of winter across the northern hemisphere. He focused on the cold and the dark below, ignoring the cries of children, because Sandman’s golden streams could not come to them now.

For the first time, Jack could not make it a game.

So, instead, he went to where he had swallowed down all those negative emotions.

They were sharp and painful, and they cut Jack’s soul a bit as he handled them.

He had swallowed them down, brushed them away.

But they stayed anyway, altering how he stood, always out of the way, above, or even balancing on his staff, as he discovered that people began to automatically move around it, never sure why, and he allowed the dark thought he never allowed to form out.

“If you will not believe in me, you will at least _fear_ me,” he hissed and unleashed his pain on the world.

Because it was the only thing he could think to do.

* * *

It burned out days later.

Houses were covered over the chimneys in some areas. Under the snow, Jack could sense the dead livestock, or the dead people that had gotten caught, either here or out in the wilderness.

He could sense it all, and he was drained.

He could hear muffled crying from the houses, and he knew that the children would be plagued by nightmares for years to come.

There would be no snowball fights any more, or laughter as the snows began, and cries of how Christmas was coming and that Father Christmas would soon be there.

That was another thing that Jack had always meant to ask Sandman about.

Father Christmas.

Not that he would be able to ask Sandman now.

The golden dream maker wouldn’t want talk to him anymore, or want to be around him anymore, now that Jack had done what he had just done.

He was exhausted, and drained, and Jack winced as the first heat of Summer, however, distant, touched him.

The North Wind tugged at his cloak, a thing in tatters now.

Odd, he hadn’t even noticed it being torn to shreds when he was allowing his rage to consume him.

The snowflake was still there, though.

It was glinting gold in the sunlight and he was tempted to rip it from him, unworthy of the gift, but he could not bear to part with it, the last thing that Sandman would probably ever give him.

Jack looked up then, leaning heavily on his staff, the only thing that was making an impression in the snow. He closed his eyes, sagging against the staff, and the North Wind tugged some more at him. “Where to Wind?” he murmured, exhausted and feeling as if his bones were ripped apart.

He jumped into the wind and he was carried off, clinging tightly to his staff.

Besides, he was pretty sure it was going to be down to yetis that didn’t like him and the Winds after Sandman learned what he had done.

* * *

The cave was cold and made up almost entirely of ice. The snow was around in piles and in the back, Jack huddled, rocking back and forth, clinging to his head, his staff abandoned out of reach.

His memories, so foggy at the end of his days long torment of the world (whether on Mother Nature’s request or not, he did not care, he had done it anyway) had come rushing back when he slept.

And now he would not, no matter how much his body demanded it now.

He had screamed and raged at the North Wind, walled him out by using the last reserves of his energy to freeze himself into the cave he had found.

And he mourned the children that were lost, and the parents, and the future children that would be lost because of the livestock and deer that had died.

Of the trees that were grazed from the top most branches, and fields that were going to be muddy ponds, useless for anything.

He clung to his head, and remembered the quivers of terror he could somehow hear over the howling of the North Wind.

He did not know how long he was awake, or how long ago the North Wind had finally stopped screaming at the ice, trying to break in.

He did not know if the ice was always creaking lowly like that, or if it was just his imagination.

His chest hurt and he felt like he needed to claw his eyes out because they _burned_ , and he didn’t think he could ever feel this way, and he couldn’t breathe through his nose and…

He did not imagine it when he heard the ice shatter and crash.

He flinched back and away, scrambling away, but never reaching for the staff.

And then a hand, small and familiar, ruffled his hair and he looked up.

And Sandman was there, eyes concerned, worried.

“But…but…I killed people. What I’ve done…I’m going to kill _more_ people,” Jack stated, trying to tell Sandman what he had done, and his chest was hurting.

But Sandman just hugged him. Hugged him tightly, as if he was afraid that Jack was going to disappear and Jack clung to Sandman, curling around him and began to sob.

Deep, broken hearted, sobs that were ripped from his chest, and ice crystals fell, scattering around and chiming lightly while the North Wind slowly entered, billowing in softly.

Jack clung and sobbed until he was worn out. And then a golden stream wrapped around him and Jack fell into a welcome oblivion of a golden castle on an ocean, hidden by ice, and surrounded by weird whale/dolphin creatures with spiral horns coming out of their faces.

* * *

When Sandy had been told that ‘that Winter Spirit’s gone nuts’ days ago, he had been confused.

Jack was such an easy going child. He loved to have fun and he had a deep desire to be seen, to be loved, like the other Guardians, though Sandy knew that Jack had no idea that the other Guardians existed.

It wasn’t until Mother Nature had told the Guardians what, exactly, was happening that Sandy had become frightened.

And angry.

He didn’t actually remember the last time he had gotten so angry, but he remembered flying up into Mother Nature’s face, golden sand swirling around him into whips subconsciously, and things flying too fast for even _him_ to comprehend over his head as he yelled at her the only way he knew how for calling on Jack for such a thing.

She could have had Autumn make an unnaturally cold winter. Autumn was a snappy spirit, she could have handled the deaths that would come from this choice. Summer was unrelenting, but fond of the people, and even Bunny could have helped in his own way.

Anyone but Jack.

Mother Nature, however, understood.

Mother Nature wilted slightly under Sandy’s onslaught and it took Tooth grabbing him and pulling him back to calm him down.

And then Sandy had gone to find his (because yes, Jack was his, in a very abstract sense, but he was _family_ , he was part of _Sandy’s_ family) Jack.

Spring was recovering, everything would be fine.

Everything, that is, except Jack.

And, using the golden dream sand he had given Jack, Sandy began to track him.

And now, here he was, holding a broken Jack.

A broken, shattered, Jack that he had held together, somehow, and had sent into a peaceful dream.

“How is he?” a voice, female, asked, and Sandy carefully settled Jack onto a cloud of golden dream sand, leaving him to be encircled by his constant friend before he rushed over to glare at Mother Nature.

She sighed and looked away.

She did not need his dream sand pictures to know what he said.

It was the gift the Man in the Moon gave her, putting her in equal power to him.

Of everyone, Sandy felt that it was more of a curse, putting her at such equal strength, but letting her keep her past self.

But then again, she might have hated them all if she ever discovered her stolen memories.

She, of all, knew how valuable memories of the life before this one could be.

Not even Tooth, Guardian of Memory, would ever fully understand it.

Sandy sighed and floated back over to Jack, who looked a bit better then when Sandy had found him. “I’m sorry,” she stated and Sandy gave her a look before he settled on the cloud, ignoring the bite of the cold the North Wind brought with him.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Sandy answered and she stared. “Will…will you contact me when he’s healed?” she asked.

Sandy nodded and, with that, flew off.

Mother Nature, Sandy knew, would feel guilty.

But, when Jack forgave her (and Sandy was sure he would) and learned that maybe all was not as bad as he had worked himself up to believe, the guilt would leave her.

She was too weighted by sorrow to truly hold onto guilt for as long as it should remain.


End file.
